


The Empress' Study

by InvincibleRodent



Series: Raymond Trevelyan [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 09:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5284739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvincibleRodent/pseuds/InvincibleRodent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>[...] Celene and Briala and Gaspard cease to exist; names, titles dissolve at a touch of his lips. As if this was how it had always been, with gentle hands brazenly stealing him away from a conversation as if it were the most natural thing ever… Pushing, dragging, urging him up the stairs, through the library, into a mysterious little cabinet hidden in the wall, and finally, into the overstuffed, plush armchair sitting behind an entirely too ostentatious desk. </em>
</p>
<p>The Inquisitor sucks Dorian off in the hidden library at the Winter Palace. That's it, that's the whole plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Empress' Study

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted chair sex for an ask meme, imported from tumblr.
> 
> Might need to apologize to my mother. This is not how she raised me.

Even in the Imperium, he would have called tonight a roaring success. An empress saved, estranged lovers reconciled, and a duchess utterly and completely humiliated in front of nigh every dignitary of Orlais? Now that, makes for an excellent conversation starter.

Of course, the artfully arranged trail of his countrymen’s corpses littering the palace is nothing to sneeze at either, but that’s neither here nor there.  
The Inquisitor saved the day, again, and managed to look damn fine doing it.

Again.

Of course, he looks much,  _much_  better now, settled on his heels between Dorian’s knees. His face is shadow-tinted, and his gloves are stuffed into his pocket like a bouquet of leather fingers as his hands are eagerly popping button after button holding the mage’s trousers shut.

With the rumble of the ball, the twangs of Orlesian songs and dancing and inane chatting reduced to but a distant hum, and nothing but the wan candlelight illuminating the secret study, it feels much like slipping away into a whole new plane of reality- as if everything that had transpired, the whole masquerade with all its scheming and intricacies - _vintricacies_ , Ray whispered into Bull’s ear at one point and the qunari spluttered into his wine- had happened not just a few hours, but years, Ages ago. Celene and Briala and Gaspard cease to exist; names, titles dissolve at a touch of his lips.

As if this was how it had always been, with gentle hands brazenly stealing him away from a conversation as if it were the most natural thing ever… Pushing, dragging, urging him up the stairs, through the library, into a mysterious little cabinet hidden in the wall, and finally, into the overstuffed, plush armchair sitting behind an entirely too ostentatious desk.

These walls could tell such tales- tales of empires felled, moments stolen, of lovers’ fevered kisses, but for now, they are silent. Dorian can barely make out the soft music over the sound of labored breaths and the rustling of their finely made clothes. Ray flashes a wicked grin from where he kneels, and gives Dorian’s loosened pants a tug- The mage obediently raises his hips, and it takes but a sharp jerk before the fabric is pooling at the tops of his boots. He exhales heavily when the warrior’s head ducks under the stretched out fabric restraining his movements and drapes his knees over broad, woefully overdressed shoulders.

“Been waiting to get my hands on you all night.” Ray murmurs into the mage’s inner thigh, warm breath caressing the expanse of skin. He hums in contentment as Dorian’s fingers thread themselves through his hair, combing it out of its strained, strangely formal style. “Do you have any idea how  _good_  this blighted uniform looks on you?”

He mouths wet kisses further and further up between each word, lips draw easy shapes into his skin, the wet tracks grow cold far too quickly in the cool study, and Dorian lets his eyes slide partly shut at the soft, fluttering sensation. 

“I had an inkling.” he grins, and inhales sharply as the kisses shift to his side; the rough stubble that sneaked its way back onto his lover’s jaw throughout the evening scrapes at the ticklish skin.

Ray gives a wordless hum in contentment as his calloused hands sneak under the edge of Dorian’s jacket, and push it up far onto his chest, lips chasing the path of the insistent fingers. “Even with all the grandeur, the tiny cakes and all the luxury, you were the single most  _magnificent_ thing in the blasted room.” he breathes, lips curling around a provocative smirk. “Been wanting to do this all night.”

Dorian rolls his eyes. “You’re already face-deep in my crotch, amatus, you need not sweet talk me any further.”

“I mean it.” Ray replies between messy kisses down the mage’s taut stomach, leaving wet stains on the delicate fabric of his smalls, teeth casually grazing along the edge. His curled fingers caress the hardening length almost  _too_  lightly, barely enough to be felt. “You were breathtaking. Even in a room full of dukes and marquis, all golds and silks and painted faces, all eyes were on you. Including mine.”

“Were I a lesser man, I would accuse you of jealousy.”

“Probably a touch more proud than jealous, but I’m not one for denial of the obvious.” the kisses move to nibble at his hipbones, and Ray’s thumbs slip under the elastic band, rubbing tight circles into the skin there. “Lift your ass.”

The upholstery -ring velvet, perhaps?- against Dorian’s skin feels warm and luxurious, and he sinks into the cushioning with a perverse satisfaction.

Through the lustful haze, it doesn’t quite escape him how obscene this whole image must seem- the dread magister, bare-assed in the Empress’ private study, the Empress’ deep red plush  _fauteuil_ , with none other than the Inquisitor pressing hotly against him, all lips and fingers and hot breath… Dorian flexes his legs against the man’s shoulders, and obeys- the silken smalls slip away as if they had never been there, and his spine arches under the warm breath grazing his flesh.

“Should have dragged you aside sooner.” Ray growls, his calloused palm wrapping around the base of Dorian’s cock, and Dorian all but whimpers. “Sucked you off in some hidden corner. Made you mine with the Empress within earshot. Would you have liked that?”

“Maker,  _yes._ ” Dorian hisses, the words filtered through the forceful crush of his teeth. To picture his love chatting away, charming nobles with  _his_  taste, _his_ scent still lingering on his tongue, masked only by the fruity scent of Lord de Launcet’s too sweet cherry wine… “Oh, _kaffas_ , yes.”

The touch is light, almost lazy, and Dorian watches with his pupils blown wide as those deft fingers trace the outlines of his cock, already rigid and slick. His head rolls back as fluttering kisses tease his frenulum and down along the shaft, and a soft breath coaxes a wicked smirk onto his lover’s face. The obscene sound of Ray spitting into his palm has his cheeks growing warm in the darkened room, and Dorian inhales sharply at the cool sensation of his cock sliding into Ray’s palm. Perfect fit, like the grip of his sword.

Each flit of that wicked tongue is purposeful, languid, designed to tease, and Maker, it’s working. Ray gives his wrist just a few rolls and Dorian rocks into his fist before he could even think about it, his right hand still gripping light brown strands hard enough to almost hurt, his left fumbling for purchase as he grasps the back of the chair behind his head. The heat pools deliciously in his gut, and his thighs shift as far apart as they can, with the fabric stretching between his knees.

“Fuck…” Ray groans, and the jingle of a buckle is loud in the little room as his free hand clumsily undoes his belt. His voice is thick, rough with lust. “Almost wish they could all see you now. Fucking  _beautiful._ ”

A long, hard drag of his tongue, and any biting retort dies in Dorian’s mouth with a hitched noise. He stifles a strained gasp gnawing on his lower lip as the warrior allows the head of his flushed cock slip slowly between his lips- tastes of sweat and musk and magic; sharp and powerful and intoxicating, like lightning in a bottle, and Ray’s lips stretch around the girth filling his mouth. A sharp tug on his hair has him growling, but he obeys, and allows his lips to slide further down, taking as much as his mouth allows and moaning as he slowly, wetly begins to rock his head back and forth, easing himself down by fractions of inches.

Dorian’s jaw tightens- Maker, he has always been good with his mouth, but this man is a whole other level, and he turns his head to the side to bite roughly into the fabric on his bicep to stifle his moans.

Dorian is acutely aware of the slick mess coating his skin and the profane, almost pornographic sounds that have his ears turning hot; a noise that demands to be heard strains against his throat as the other man’s cheeks hollow around him, and that provocative look bores into his face… A spit-slicked finger slips into the cleft of his ass without warning, and the carmine fabric slips from his teeth as he gasps, loud in the stillness of the room. The digit rubs circles around the tight ring of his hole, and Dorian is unable to keep his eyes focused on Ray’s face; his head tips back against the stuffing and his lips press into a thin line in restraint. He shifts his hips to grant a better angle- it earns him a deep, bestial growl that tears itself from the warrior’s mouth, and sends the prickle of shivers up his spine.

Dorian mourns for but a second when his cock slides out with but an lewd, wet pop and that mouth is replaced with a slick hand fisting his cock lightly, and two fingers rubbing insistently at his entrance, and Maker, he would be ready to bend over this hideous desk right this second.

“Feels good?” Ray purrs, soft words promising pleasures that would shake Dorian’s very spine and leave him wobbling back to the ballroom, and his lips brush the flushed tip with each word, each with a gentle, but steady stroke of fingers on heated flesh. “Tell me, love.”

“You don’t—nfffh, right  _there_ – you don’t need me to fan your ego any further.”

Ray pouts, mischief tinting his words. “Maker, you’re hard to please.” Dorian fondly brushes the messy strands he had wound around his hand out of his lover’s forehead.

“I can’t deny that.” he smirks, affectionate, and for but a second, he really wishes he were flexible enough to bend down for a kiss. He can see the lazy, but firm movements of the hand out of view, feel the shoulder under his knee move as his lover slowly strokes himself under the chair- apparently satisfied with the answer, Ray smiles fondly, and takes mercy on the mage. His head dips back down, and a shuddering moan escapes Dorian, now both hands carding through the mess of hair between his shaking thighs.

Ray moans into the flesh, needy and sharp and filthy with each exhale, and Maker, those obscene groans and soft whimpers… no man should be allowed to take this much pleasure in sucking off another, and his head begins bobbing with increasing tempo.

A finger slides into saliva-slick, clenching heat and has Dorian finally moaning with abandon, head thrown back against the backboard. Just one finger, no more, but it feels so good, so tight, he could scream– he’s trembling with the desire to thrust up into the slick heat of his lover’s throat, force it to accept him, open up for him, mold around him… His fingers tug mercilessly, insistently at fistfuls of hair, and that finger, that one finger slides, stretches him with a soft, delicious burn, expertly seeking that one spot that makes him see stars.

Dorian groans each time he drops back down and the fingers pumping into him prod his prostrate. The spikes of pleasure soon turn into daggers, each low pulse thrusting him further and further towards that sweet oblivion- he’s unraveling fast, rushing blindly towards his release as sweet, aching pleasure builds with each low flush of want in his core, coiling, straining, and he is reduced to incoherence, to nothing but ragged moans and shivers.

The chair trips back, precariously balanced on its back legs, and Dorian’s legs cross behind Ray’s head as he chases his release- soft curses tumble from his lips fluidly, both Tevene and Common, jaw slack and hips rolling up into Ray’s throat– Trembling fingers twist harder into russet hair, insistently urging his head further down Dorian’s shaft, and Ray obeys, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure, before finally, _finally_ Dorian falls gasping over the edge. His thighs clench around his lover’s ears, and the mage comes with but a shuddering breath, his nails digging into Ray’s scalp; the rough, ragged moan bounces off the gaudy wallpaper and echoes in the chamber.

It takes his mind but a moment to catch up, and the white-hot pulses of pleasure running along his skin to come to a slow, ebbing halt.

“That mouth of yours is _sin._ ” he sighs finally, and his softening dick finally slips back onto his stomach with but one last prickle of pleasure, the skin glimmering wetly in the low light. His hand still shakes a bit as it slips out of the warrior’s hair and down to cradle his cheek.

Ray licks lips, Dorian’s thumb catches a drop on his chin and smears it on his lip- Ray lazily draws the digit between his lips, teeth gently scraping, and releases it after a brief suck.

“I do try.” his voice hoarse, that telltale way only a cock in one’s throat can induce, and Maker, Dorian feels himself stiffen again.

Ray ducks out from under the creased fabric and eases the equally creased mage onto his feet. Dorian moans one last time when he tastes himself in a gentle, filthy kiss. “I could spend the whole evening down there, you know.”

Dorian only smirks drowsily at the remark.

“Well, the night  _is_  young.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like, please do take a look at my [tumblr](http://www.weresquirrel.tumblr.com)! [Here](http://weresquirrel.tumblr.com/post/133937625131/the-empress-study-dorianmtrevelyan-nsfw) is a link to the original post. Any feedback is welcome! :)


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